The Seven Deadly Sins
by Jason Layton
Summary: Seven Mortal Vices which haunt Sherlock, and the Virtues that follow John. Short drabbles.
1. Gluttony

The first sin Sherlock remembered committing was Gula, the sin of gluttony. He had been four and it was Mycroft's last birthday before he went away to school. Their Au Pair had made a large Croquembouche, complete with stars, spun sugar, sugar mice and with a nod to Mycroft's personal tastes, Meringue cat faces. The giant creation had been prepared the night before, and was sat in the formal Dining Room ready for the party the next day. Sherlock had difficulty sleeping, and had escaped his nursery looking for adventure.

He was stumbling along the corridor between Mummy's lounge and the library when he spotted the formal Dining room door was open. It was never open unless a party was imminent, and although Sherlock was vaguely aware it was Mycroft's birthday no one had mentioned a party to him. The last time they had had a Croquembouche in the house had been Mummies birthday party, and Sherlock had been allowed to eat all the sugared mice. So it was perfectly logical to his tiny mind he was allowed to eat Mycroft's as well, he climbed onto the table and started picking off the mice.

After what seemed to Sherlock was at least two hours, he had eaten all the mice, and most of the cats. He was suddenly aware that nobody was about, what if he was the only person left in the house, what if some terrible accident had happened and he was the only person alive in the house. Worse his little brain started to wonder what if he was the only person left alive on the planet. What if the world had come to the end and by some divine accident he had been left behind by mistake. In which case it was his duty to eat the rest of the Croquembouche, as it would definitely be a crime to let it go to waste.

Mycroft woke Sherlock up 6 hours later with a cry and a sob. Excited about his birthday, Mycroft had run downstairs looking for presents, and had instead found his baby brother, covered in sugar, choux pastry and chocolate unconscious in the center of the dining table. Worse his birthday cake, which he had been looking forward to sharing with his beloved brother, was almost completely consumed, and what was left was covered in the sticky saliva covered mess surrounding Sherlock.

Sherlock had been sent to his room for the rest of the day, and although Mycroft was very diplomatic about the event, he was very disappointed. Mummy was horrified and very angry with Sherlock, and Daddy had spanked him. Their Au Pair thought the whole thing was very funny, and created two smaller Croquembouche the next weekend just because she had loved both boys. Sherlock however was disappointed with himself, he should have been in more control, and he hated the nasty feeling he had in his chest and tummy for days afterwards. He made a decision there and then, never to be gluttonous again.


	2. Pride

Superbia was the next sin Sherlock remembered he started it at 5 and had never really got rid of that particular vice. Sherlock knew he was different from the other children, he knew this because Mycroft had told him. Holmes' are clever, everyone else is an idiot in comparison, and Sherlock should never be embarrassed by his intellect. This is what Mycroft had drummed into him as he prepared for his first term at school.

Sherlock had entered the tiny village primary school with his head held high, terrified inwardly but with an outward swagger. The first few days were all about getting acclimatized to the environment. The other children missed their parents, got scared by the toilets, had little accidents and were generally just normal 5 year olds. Sherlock however did none of those things; he mostly sat on the rug and pretended to read, while watching the chaos around him.

At the end of the first week, he had received a prize from his class teacher. For being such a good well behave young man she had given him a picture of a tiger in a metal frame. The rest of the class was quite upset that Sherlock had been picked out in this way. Sherlock however was filled with pride; he spent the day showing his tiger picture to anyone and everyone.

He had been six or seven when he first realized people were scared of his deductions. To his childlike mind he assumed everyone had these deductions. Certainly all of their family could do it, and it wasn't slightly unusual. So when he asked Mrs Black what she thought about Mrs Pipers eldest daughter being pregnant, he had no idea why he had spent the rest of the day in the Headmasters study.

He had been proud later when he realized that his gift of deduction was not something that just anyone could do. He had shown off repeatedly, and sadly had received a number of beatings for his trouble. Still he remained proud of his gift, proud of his intellect and still proud enough to show off despite the beatings, and taunts.

By the time Sherlock had gone to Eton, his pride had developed within him a swagger, a pinched attitude that looks down his nose at anyone an anything. He's never really lost that look, and whether you believe his assertion that he is a Sociopath or not the only feeling that really ever shows itself on his features, the only look that crosses his face when he spouts his deductions, is pride.


	3. Wrath

**I have almost terminal writers block, this one has been half finished for weeks! Sorry**

**I will try really hard to update faster! Also Lucy has been home since the 27th and it's been WONDERFUL! **

**Sadly she goes back on either Tuesday or Wednesday so I will having nothing to entertain me, but Sherlock and my menagerie!**

**Jas xx**

* * *

Arnon's vice came next, Ira always the hardest sin to deal with, not the slight irritation John gets when the chip and pin machine rejects his card, but burning hot red intent anger. Sherlock was 6 when that particular demon first tore his little body in two. He had been playing in the river that ran through the Holmes' estate, enjoying the cool water running over his soft pale body. Mycroft and Daddy had gone to a shooting party in Norfolk, and Mummy was on a visit to friends in the Peak District. Sherlock had been left with the new Au Pair, and a full contingent of Holmes Mansion staff.

He had been hiding all day, avoiding breakfast, and lunch and soon if he was careful he would be able to avoid dinner. So when he heard the sound of people approaching he ducked his tiny body down into the water, his belly pressing on the mud and pebbles of the river bed, with just his head peeping out of the water, hidden from the waterside path by thick reeds and rushes.

The woman walking along the path was crying, and the man with her was talking firmly but coldly. Sherlock couldn't make out their words yet but from his vantage point he could see the woman was heavily pregnant, and the man he could just make out was Daniel, his Father's Estate Manager. Daniel was gesticulating back at the Manor, and to the woman's engorged stomach.

Sherlock crawled upwards, feeling a slight chill from the water sticking to his skin as he exposed himself to the summer's light breeze. He could hear their voices much clearer now, and the words they were saying. He caught Daniel's rural Suffolk tones, so different from the Oxfordian of the local's. Sherlock liked his singsong voice and could pick it out from anyone else on the estate. The other voice was a short nasal twang from Aylesbury, common and grating.

"But it will be the sister of 'is ickle brats" the nasally woman whined.

"No, love it will be a by-blow and he won't acknowledge it no matter how hard you try" Daniel reasoned.

"I know me rights, I is gonna get somebody to listen, then what will hoighty toighty Mrs Lady Holmes say?"

"Absolutely nothing, Lord Holmes will not acknowledge the child, he has offered you a stipend, that's all your going to get."

"I'll go and see 'im, 'e knows it's 'is he does, you'll see, I'm gonna get him to acknowledge it."

"Yes, of course now back in the real world, Lord and Lady Holmes are away, so what will it take for you to leave?"

"I want to see a brat, I want to see one of them ickle Holme's freaks, tell 'em about their precious Daddy, knockin' me up, and 'dem 'aving an ickle baby sister"

"No that won't be happening" Daniel reasoned grabbing the woman's arms, and steering her, up to the woodland path that led to the village, "listen go back to the Star and Garter and I'll meet you there."

Their voices receded and Sherlock slumped down, his body racking with silent sobs, and his tiny fists clenched. His Daddy had been with another woman, she was pregnant with Sherlock's sister, and she was horrid. She'd called him and Mycroft freaks and brats, and clearly Daniel was going to give her money. Sherlock's little body felt like it was cracking down the middle, he wanted to scream, and shout and hit things with his fist. Everything in the world was broken and wrong and he didn't know what to do.

A massive explosion just before Teatime had rocked the house. The windows were blown out, the Orangerie, the source of the HTP based explosion had been mostly destroyed, and the youngest son had gone missing. Obviously within seconds of the initial explosion the emergency services were on the scene, treating the injured, and searching for the reason for the explosion.

The emergency services finally found the 6-year-old asleep in the remains of the Orangerie; he had crawled inside one of the green wooden storage chests, where he was confident he'd be safe from any flying glass. After the explosion he'd decided it seemed too dangerous to leave the comfort of his hidey-hole, and unaware of the desperate search for him he had fallen asleep.

No one ever knew why Sherlock had done it, but the Holme's had hushed it up, a gas leak had been the favored explanation for the damage to the Family Mansion, and quickly forgotten. Lady Holmes had always assumed it was another case of Sherlock's massive intellect and tiny self-restraint, Mycroft had secretly thought it hysterical and Siger Holmes was just angry. Sherlock kept the whole event locked away inside him, hiding the tragic knowledge of what happens when his anger is riled, his knowledge of his fathers infidelity, and a nasty creeping suspicion that he was, deep down, a very dangerous person.


	4. Sloth

Acedia was a sin just for Sherlock, if Mummy had powers of precognition Sherlock would have been named Belphegor. Mycroft was apathetic when it didn't involve him, as exuberant as he was over his work and his family; nothing else ever interested him. Sherlock was the polar opposite, interested in every aspect of the world, except those, which the average human found most pressing.

When Sherlock was Seven he attended the local Prep, it was a small school with just 8 boys in each year. The boy's class teacher took all lessons, and despite the wide range of subjects covered the school day always followed the same rigid regime.

By the time Sherlock was 8 he was utterly bored by the whole routine. He needed better stimulation, he needed wider options, frankly he felt he needed better teachers, but despite begging Mummy, and Daddy and occasionally Mycroft he was stuck in Junior Two. So one day he decided he just wouldn't bother. Normally quiet and withdrawn he never stuck his hand up in class, or showed off unless it was disparage the teacher, today he didn't even lift a pen.

At first break, he refused to move from his desk, despite cajoling, threatening and begging from various teachers. Through second period he sat at the back of class, drawing pictures of horses on his exercise book, ignoring everything else. At lunch the same stubbornness continued, he didn't file downstairs to the dining hall with the other boys, he sat at his desk, staring into space. By the second half of the lunchtime playtime, the school nurse had been called.

By the end of the day, everyone was worried, and Sherlock was completely unconcerned. As the bell rang, he looked around, picked up his little satchel and started walking home. Of course no one from the school had informed the Holmes mansion of Sherlock' behavior, no one was waiting to collect him, the underlying darkness of that house seemed out and infected the neighboring village; Don't ask Don't tell.

Halfway home, Sherlock crossed the little country road, climbed a halfway hidden stile and disappeared into the woodland edge of the Holmes estate. In the cool dark greenery Sherlock stripped of his tie, cap and blazer shoving them into his satchel. He walked through the woodland and taking a number of false starts, and seemingly random paths, he made his way slowly towards the house. Sherlock was determined to learn all the paths and routes through the woodland.

Six hours later he returned to the house, filthy, tired and with a better understanding of the place he lived. He would soon know every hide away every nook every cranny. He didn't know why but Sherlock's brain sparked and flickered with a desire to know every detail every inch of his zone, his area, and his place. Climbing to his room by utilizing the drainpipe, and leading, Sherlock changed into pj's and worked hard on his cartography of the estate.

He went into school the next day, grateful for his new resolve to do nothing. His little body was exhausted from the pervious night's excursions, and his brain was still filled with paths and roads, trees and stiles. His brain was occupied and his body was completely stilled. He barely noticed when his class teacher pulled him off his chair by the arm, and physically dragged him down the stairs to the headmasters study.

"Holmes you are a slothful, lazy little boy" the headmaster admonished

If only he knew.


End file.
